I Am Become DEATH
by GoldSeven
Summary: Set during "The Art of Deception". Peter needs some persuasion before he is willing to let his revenge against Sylar go. Hopefully the only Heroes/Discworld crossover you will ever see. Peter/Angela/Death. Total and utter crack, and immensely satisfying.


OK, I'm pissed. I'm seriously pissed. They have sacrificed Peter's well-thought out character and personality for _another_ redemption arc of a character who has by far outstayed his welcome on this show. Peter willing to team up with Sylar because he saw it in a dream, when he knows how unreliable those are? Oh, _please_!

I can only imagine it happened like this.

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.

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**I am become ****DEATH**

.**  
**

Angela sighed as Peter gently took the pen from her hands and put it aside.

"Maybe it was selfish of me, Peter, but I just needed to see you. I needed to be sure you were OK."

"Because of your vision." Peter nodded. "I had the dream too, Mom. I saw the people. And Sylar." He let his voice trail off, staring into space. "You saw him too?"

"The dreams are always confused, Peter… you know that."

"Yeah, I do." Peter got up from the desk he'd been sitting on. "I know what you're going to say. I'll be careful. I need to save Emma, and I need to know what Sylar's role in all of this is. If he's with the carnival, I'll find a way to take him down."

SORRY, PETER. I'M AFRAID THAT'S NOT ACCEPTABLE.

Both Peter and Angela whirled to see who had spoken, and saw a blond, bearded man standing right in front of them in Angela's living-room. It was hard to say what was more remarkable about his appearance: His… well, sudden appearance, or the fact that he was clad in a black hood and cloak and carried a rather remarkable scythe.

Peter cautiously moved in front of Angela, staring at the apparition.

"How the hell did you get in here?" He frowned and looked him up and down. "And what's that thing?"

SORRY. I'VE JUST COME BACK FROM ANOTHER JOB. YOU WANT ME TO LEAVE IT SOMEWHERE?

"Yes, please," Angela said coolly. "I'm not having this thing in the house."

Death – for that was what he was – briefly left the room, and appeared a few seconds later, without his scythe.

SO, WHERE WERE WE?

"Why're you talking in capital letters?" Peter asked, frowning.

BECAUSE IT LENDS ME AUTHORITY. Death looked around for a place to sit, affectionately patted the photograph of Nathan lying on Angela's desk, and sat down where Peter had sat previously. NOW, ABOUT THIS SYLAR REVENGE THING.

"Yeah?" Peter said coldly.

I STRONGLY ADVISE YOU NOT TO TAKE REVENGE.

"You strongly advise?" Peter echoed, incredulous. "That man killed my brother. He killed dozens of others, hundreds for all I know."

YES, WELL, THERE IS THAT.

"And I swore I'd make him scream, and I fully intend to."

ACTUALLY, NOW THAT YOU MENTION THAT, I HAD KIND OF HOPED YOU HAD FORGOTTEN.

"Forgotten? How would I have forgotten that?"

WELL, THE WAY YOU FORGOT ABOUT THAT IRISH GIRL. CAITLIN SOMETHING.

"Caitlin what?"

I DON'T THINK WE EVER GAVE HER A LAST NAME. BUT WELL, THAT IS KIND OF WHAT I MEANT.

"I still don't see how that means I can't beat the crap out of Sylar," Peter said with venom.

WELL, THERE'S THIS MINOR ISSUE THAT WE'VE MADE HIM PRACTICALLY IMMORTAL.

"Can't I stick, like, a pencil in his eye? Several pencils?"

I MIGHT ALLOW THAT. BUT I'M SORT OF WORRIED ABOUT THE FANGIRLS' REACTION.

Peter blinked a couple of times. Death had pretty much lost him. Which, all things considered, wasn't the worst thing that could happen to you.

Death sat down more comfortably on the desk, starting to count off the points on his fingers as he recited. IT'S NOT PRETTY. THE SYLAR FANGIRLS WOULDN'T WANT THAT. He suddenly stopped himself, looking back at Peter. EXCEPT IF YOU MEANT THE PENCIL IN A METAPHORICAL, SEXUAL SENSE.

"In a _what_?" Peter asked in disbelief, momentarily unsure whether he'd heard Death right. Sometimes it was hard to tell with all those capital letters.

AH, SORRY, FORGET ABOUT THAT. I GUESS IT'S BETTER IF WE DON'T GO THERE. ESPECIALLY SINCE PEOPLE ARE STILL COMPLAINING ABOUT CLAITCHEN. Death got up, and sighed. ANYWAY, I MUST BE GOING, OR I'LL BE LATE FOR LYDIA. GOTTA TAKE HER BEFORE CLAIRE REMEMBERS TO REVIVE HER WITH THE MAGIC BLOOD.

He walked to the door. I BELIEVE I'VE MADE MYSELF CLEAR HERE.

"I… suppose," Peter said, doubtfully.

There was a puff of green smoke, and when it had vanished, Death was still at the door, bending to pick up his scythe. He looked rather embarrassed at not having vanished along with the smoke. He straightened with a jerk, banged the instrument against the doorframe, apologized, and left.

For a moment, Peter and Angela stood staring after him, then, slowly, Angela said,, "Maybe it was selfish of me, Peter, but I just needed to see you. I needed to be sure you were OK."

Peter nodded understandingly. "Because of your vision… I had the dream too, Mom. I saw the people. And Sylar... I think he was trying to help Emma. You saw that too?"

"Whatever this vision is, Peter, remember this: One isolated act does not make Sylar your friend's saviour."

"I need you to help me find him, Mom. I know you know where he is."

Death threw one last glance through the window, and nodded approvingly. Mission accomplished.


End file.
